


Lonely is the Night

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s09e14 Captives, First Time, M/M, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They shouldn’t be doing this. Or maybe they should’ve done this years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely is the Night

The iPod is set on shuffle, Billy Squier’s  _Lonely is the Night_  followed by Pink Floyd’s  _High Hopes_ , and by the time the heartbreakingly melancholic song ends with the sound of bells, Dean just can’t bear it anymore. He practically tears the headphones off and then he’s out of his room and standing in front of Sam’s door before he gets the chance to change his mind and chickens out of a confrontation again. He’s the one who fucked things up; he’s the one who has to make the first move.

He takes a deep breath, releases it slowly and knocks.

“Come in,” comes Sam’s voice from behind the door and Dean enters. Sam’s already changed into his sleeping clothes, sitting on the bed, open book in one hand. He doesn’t seem to be particularly happy to see Dean.

Well, tough luck. “We need to talk.”

Sam’s expression remains the same (vaguely hostile and distant), but he puts the book away and leans his back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest like a bulletproof vest. “Fine. Talk.”

Under normal circumstances Dean would sit down on the bed next to Sam without even asking, but their boundaries are blurry now and so he remains standing by the door, endless miles of empty space between them. “Kevin’s right. We have to stop doing this; we have to get over this thing between us.”

“Over what? There is  _nothing_  between us.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Suddenly looking very, very angry, Dean takes several steps towards Sam and spreads his hands. “Just get on with it already.”

“What?”

“Punch me, kick me, whatever you need to pay me back. Just be done with it!”

“Dean, I don’t want to hurt you!”

Letting his arms fall back to his sides, Dean scoffs. “Yeah, and that’s why you keep rubbing this  _we’re just business partners, we’re not brothers anymore_  crap into my face all the time."

"I said that because I meant it!"

"No, you said that because you were being a dick. I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I can see what you’re trying to accomplish here, and I get that the  _let’s kick Dean while he’s down_  game is fun for you, but I'm not gonna play anymore. Do what you gotta do to get this out of your system now or I'll start fighting back.”

Sam can’t help feeling a bit disappointed that Dean can see through him so easily. He knows he’s been somewhat irrational and probably even unfair lately, but he feels fully entitled to that after being betrayed in the worst way possible by the one person he trusted the most in the entire world. “Alright, so maybe you’re right. But if you think you can turn this around and make me the bad guy here, you’re wrong. It was you who hurt me first, Dean.” He sighs, shakes his head, searching for words but unable to find any that would express how deeply Dean’s actions affected him, how they completely turned his whole world upside down. “What you did to me…”

Dean flinches but doesn't shy away from his brother's gaze. “I know. And I’m sorry Sam, I really am.” This is the first time he actually says it out loud, hoping that it will help break the thick ice between them. “I lied to you, I took your choice away from you, basically put you through the whole Lucifer situation again. And I apologize for that.” He squares his shoulders and his face hardens with determination. “But I’m not gonna apologize for saving your life. Not now, not ever.”

Now it’s Sam whose blood starts to boil. “Why, Dean?” Kicking off the covers, he stands up, walks up to Dean, his expression and tone more intimidating than his height as he looms over the shorter man, forcing him to walk back until Dean hits the wall and has nowhere else to go. “Why? And don’t say it’s because we’re brothers.”

Dean looks up, chewing on his lip as he mulls over his answer, before deciding – because they’re already fucked up, things can’t get any worse, right? – to just do it. “How about this, then?” And he rises on his tiptoes to kiss Sam.

At the first moment, Sam kisses back, then his brain catches up with what’s happening and he pushes himself away from Dean. “What the hell?”

Staying where he is, Dean shrugs unapologetically. “Hey, you said it yourself. You wanted us to be honest with one another, right? So don’t pretend this is new to you, don’t pretend you never noticed the looks I gave you, and don’t fucking pretend you never gave the same looks to me.” A mocking smirk settles on his lips and Dean pushes himself away from the wall, hips first, and walks up to Sam, chin raised defiantly in challenge.

There’s always been a strong link between frustration, violence and sex in Sam’s life and Sam is pretty frustrated with Dean right now, the urge to punch his face really strong, so it’s not that big of a surprise when he instead grabs him by the head roughly and kisses him again, using his tongue, lips and teeth (lots of teeth, he can taste blood now and it only serves to spur him on further) to convey all his anger and disappointment and pain and love.

Dean moans and presses against Sam, body yielding instinctively, hands scrambling for purchase, sliding under Sam’s shirt to glide across smooth, hot skin and the tight muscles that ripple underneath. He didn’t mean for this to happen when he kissed Sam but now that Sam is kissing him, touching him, things can really only go one way. “Bed?”

“Yeah.”

They break apart just long enough to lose their clothes. No need to be shy, they’ve seen each other naked countless times before. The only difference is that now they can freely look. And touch.

Large, rough, calloused hands with strong, blunt fingers isn’t what either of them is used to, just as scratchy stubble and flat chests and straining erections are all completely new, but then again, not so new really. They’ve both been here before, in countless shameful, forbidden dreams and fantasies accompanied by racing heartbeats and stifled moans in the quiet dark of the night.

They kiss and fight their way across the bed, rolling and grappling for dominance, but once Sam manages to pin Dean under him, the fight immediately leaves Dean’s body, carried away on a relieved half-moan, half-sigh.

Fairly sure that Dean won’t try to break free, Sam lifts himself off his brother and sneaks one hand down between their bodies to wrap it around their erections in a tight, firm grip.

Shuddering violently at the contact, Dean whines and starts to shake his head frantically. “No, no.”

Sam stills his movements. “No, you don’t want this?”

“No, I want more.” Dean spreads his legs in clear invitation even as a dark blush spreads across his face and chest. “Come on. Do it.”

And Sam does, without asking again to make sure whether Dean is really alright with it. He just finds the half-empty bottle of KY that he keeps in his nightstand and watches Dean draw in a surprised breath when he breaches him with one fingertip, fumbling and awkward. There's no doubt they're both absolutely new to this.

“’S okay, just cold,” Dean feels the need to explain himself, pushing back against Sam’s finger already, his own fingers digging into the hard flesh of Sam’s shoulders. “Come on, more.”

“Okay.” Sam goes slow, not exactly gentle but certainly careful enough not to really hurt Dean, and Dean doesn’t tell him that it still actually hurts a lot (definitely more than he expected, maybe they’re not doing it right, but they're doing it and that's all that matters) and just holds on. The feeling of his brother above him, inside him, so close and yet so untouchable and unreachable hurts much more anyway. Despite being stuffed deliciously, painfully full of his brother’s cock, Dean feels completely empty.

“Sam,” he rasps, and when Sam’s wild eyes meet his own, Dean lets down his guard and wills Sam to just  _see_.

But Sam looks away, unable and unwilling to see what Dean’s trying to show him. He can’t allow himself to forgive and forget, that would only take them back to the beginning and they’d start another endless, pointless cycle of self-sacrificing codependency all over again. And Sam can't let that happen. So he avoids meeting Dean's eyes, focuses on Dean's mouth instead, open and gasping, red and bitten.

This isn't what either of them imagined when they fantasized about their first time; the dream is twisted and distorted, deformed, they're not making love, just fucking, but it's still _them._ It's still so good it won't last nearly as long as they'd like it to.

The sharp, almost brutal snaps of Sam’s hips make Dean squeeze his eyes shut against the pain and pleasure as they lose rhythm and pick up on speed and urgency. Sam’s increasingly bruising grip on Dean’s thighs where he’s holding them open is the only warning he gives before he grunts and spills inside Dean, and it only takes Dean a few hard pulls on his cock to follow him over the edge.

He didn’t even see Sam’s face when he came.

And he can’t see it now either, Sam is rolling off the bed and getting dressed again, his back turned to Dean. “This doesn’t change anything at all,” he says, sliding back under the covers, making it clear that he doesn’t expect Dean to stay. And Dean's been at the receiving end of the  _you can see yourself out_  treatment enough times to know better than to even try and argue. 

“Yeah, I know.” He gets dressed too, putting his clothes on almost as fast as when he was tearing them off just minutes earlier.

“You can’t give me the promise I want to hear from you, you can’t give me what I really need.” Sam looks as devastated as Dean feels now, he’s not using his words as a weapon anymore, he’s simply saying the truth.

“No, I can’t.” Because he’d still do it all again, he’d still do anything so Sam could live.

Dean moves towards the door, his limbs heavy and tired. “Goodnight, Sam.”

Sam rolls to his side, facing away from Dean because he can’t look at him right now, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stay strong about this if he did. But he can’t keep treating Dean like shit either so he quietly replies, “Goodnight.”

"Yeah."

After taking a quick shower, Dean goes back to his own room, lies down on his bed, takes the iPod and puts the headphones on again.


End file.
